Chapter 2

Seven days.

That was all the time I had left in the Moreau estate.

When I returned, our six-foot wedding portrait still dominated the white-marble entrance hall, enclosed in a hand-carved gold-leaf frame.

In it, I wore ivory satin and the Moreau diamonds, smiling up at Vincent with absolute certainty. He stood behind me in black, one hand spread across my waist in a pose that was elegant, intimate, and unmistakably possessive.

People used to joke that the controlled, untouchable Moreau heir was the only man capable of handling the wild, reckless Sophia.

Whenever I created a scandal, Vincent cleaned it up. Whenever I acted without thinking, he brought me home and told me to behave.

I had mistaken the way he managed me for devotion.

I looked away from the portrait.

“Marta.”

The housekeeper hurried into the hall. “Yes, Mrs. Moreau?”

“Take it down. Then clear every wedding photograph, gift, and souvenir from this house.”

Marta followed my gaze and froze.

“All of them?”

“Donate anything useful. Throw away the rest.”

“But the portrait was always your favorite.”

“That was why I started with it.”

Marta stared at me.

“The Don kept everything exactly as you left it. He never brought Miss Cross into this house.”

“Now that you’re awake, perhaps everything can return to the way it was.”

“It can’t.”

“Mrs. Moreau—”

“Do as I asked.”

Marta reluctantly summoned two servants. Together, they eased the heavy gilt frame away from the blue silk-covered wall, exposing a pale rectangle untouched by three years of candle smoke and sunlight.

I watched them carry away the jeweled bride who had believed Vincent would always choose her.

I had just reached the sweeping marble staircase when the carved double doors opened.

Vincent entered in a rain-darkened black cashmere coat, flanked by two armed men. His gaze moved from the bare silk wall to the gilded portrait in the servants’ hands.

“Put it back.”

The servants stopped.

I looked at them. “Did I tell you to stop?”

No one moved. They stood trapped between the Don’s command and mine.

Vincent looked at me.

Once, I would have started a war simply to make him look at me.

Tonight, I nodded toward the door. “Take it out.”

Something shifted in his expression.

He held my gaze for another second, then flicked two fingers toward the door. The servants hurried away with the portrait.

Vincent crossed to the black onyx console and placed a transparent evidence bag on its polished surface.

A single dried lavender petal rested inside.

“What did you put in Noah’s gift?”

I looked at the petal.

“What are you talking about?”

“Noah suffered a severe allergic reaction after the christening. The doctor found this inside the box you gave him.”

“Today was the first time I met him. How would I know what could hurt him?”

“Isabella mentioned his sensitivity before you arrived.”

“There were dozens of people around her. I didn’t hear it.”

“The petal was inside your gift.”

“So check the hotel cameras.”

“I already sent Marco to collect the recordings.”

“The front desk packed and sealed the box,” I said. “I never opened it again.”

“Isabella said only the two of you handled it.”

I gave a short laugh.

“Isabella cried, and you decided I was guilty before you walked through that door.”

“I know what you do when you’re hurt.”

“No. You know what I allowed you to see.”

His calm answer stung more than an accusation shouted in anger.

“You break things. You strike first. You make certain everyone feels exactly what you’re feeling.”

“If you believe I used a child to punish you, say it clearly.”

“I think you were angry enough not to care what happened.”

“Then you’ve forgotten who I am.”

“No. Your silence is making me wonder if I ever knew you.”

Vincent stepped closer.

“You walked into that reception smiling as if Isabella and Noah meant nothing. The Sophia I know would never have stayed silent.”

“The Sophia you know was asleep for three years.”

His jaw tightened.

“I did not put that petal in the box,” I said. “Whether you believe me is no longer my concern.”

I turned toward the stairs.

Vincent caught my wrist. His grip was firm but careful, positioned above the bruises left by weeks of hospital needles.

“Until I see the recordings, you will stay away from Isabella and Noah.”

I looked down at his hand, then raised my eyes to his.

“Let go.”

“Sophia.”

“I won’t ask twice.”

His fingers tightened once before he released me. At the same moment, his bodyguards moved in front of the stairs.

I looked from them to him.

“What is this?”

“A precaution.”

“You’re confining me because Isabella cried?”

“I’m keeping everyone safe until I know what happened.”

“Everyone except me.”

“You are not in danger.”

I laughed softly.

“I’m leaving.”

“No.”

The answer came without hesitation.

“You were discharged from the hospital a week ago. You are not wandering through New York alone while this is unresolved.”

“You don’t trust me near your son, but you want me under your roof?”

“I don’t have to trust your judgment to keep you safe.”

“That isn’t protection. It’s a cage.”

“Call it whatever you want.”

I reached for my phone.

“I’ll stay at a hotel.”

Vincent looked at Marta.

“Bring me Sophia’s passport and car keys.”

My hand stopped.

Marta hesitated. “Don—”

“Now.”

I held his gaze.

“You think taking my passport will keep me here?”

“I know it will.”

“And when the recordings prove you imprisoned the wrong woman?”

Vincent was silent for a moment.

“Then we’ll discuss what happens next.”

“There is no ‘we’ in what happens next.”

Not an apology. Not even an admission that he might be wrong.

A discussion, granted at the Don’s convenience.

Marta returned with my keys and the black leather case containing my passport. She placed them in Vincent’s hand.

He slipped both into his coat.

“Stay in the east wing tonight,” he said. “We will discuss this when Marco returns.”

“You still think I’m trying to punish you.”

“I think you’re angry.”

“No, Vincent. You know how to handle my anger.”

I looked at the passport disappearing inside his coat.

“You should be more afraid of what happens when I stop fighting.”

For the first time, his expression changed.

Then he recovered and turned toward his men.

“If she passes those gates without me, every one of you answers for it.”

He walked into his office as though the matter were settled.

Seven days remained before my flight.

Vincent thought taking my passport meant he could keep me in New York.

He had forgotten that I had been Sophia long before I became Mrs. Moreau.

And I had never stayed inside a cage simply because a man locked the door.